


A Beginner's Guide to Terrible Literature

by myloveiamthespeedofsound



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, That's it, that's all the tags, this is the trashiest fluff I have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myloveiamthespeedofsound/pseuds/myloveiamthespeedofsound
Summary: AKA the one where Prompto and Gladio read Twilight and Gladio has a bad case of Feelings™





	A Beginner's Guide to Terrible Literature

 

About three things Gladiolus Amicitia was absolutely positive:  
    First, Twilight was a _terrible_ novel.  
    Second, there was a part of him - that he absolutely _hated_ \- that kind of liked the fucking thing.  
    And third, he was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Prompto Argentum.

  


The rest stop is, as expected, slim pickings in the things to read department.  A few outdated magazines, some dusty books that looked like no one had some much glanced at them let, alone picked them up, in years.  So _of fucking_ _course_ this would be the rest stop when he runs out of things in his bag to read.  And he’s honestly pretty sure he’s just better off starting to re-read something he’d brought with him than try to find something here.  But Prompto, with a wide and excited grin and a hop in his step, had seemed so bound and fucking determined to find Gladio something new that well… who was Gladio to tell the kid no.  
  
“Oh! _Untold Mysteries of the Cresholm Channels_?” Prompto asks and looks at Gladio over the small shelf between them that held various knick knacks and the piss poor book selection.  He holds the book up, a triumphant smile on his face and it physically _hurts_ Gladio to shake his head at the offering.

“That author is a hack,” he explains as he taps the cover.  He’s tried one or two by them before and the mysteries were just shit.  Prompto presses his lips together, shrugs and disappears behind the self again.  

Gladio’s flipping through a several year old style magazine and debating just calling the whole thing off when an excited _oh em gee no way!!!!_ catches his attention.  He peeks his head over the shelf, just as Prompto goes to do the same and the resulting clash of foreheads has Prompto rubbing at his with a good natured laugh.  “Oh hey, easy there, big guy…”  
  
“Sorry,” Gladio mumbles and without realizing he’s even doing it really he gently grabs Prompto’s hand to pull it away and asses the damage, ducking down a little to be at the right height and he catches Prompto’s eyes as they stare up at him.  All wide and impossibly blue.  Gladio shifts and drops the hand.  “Uh - looks like you’ll live…” yep.

He was a fucking idiot.

A bit of a blush spreads across Prompto’s cheeks and he shifts almost nervously before remembering what had caught his attention.  He grins again and holds up the, obviously used, paperback.  “Whaddya say, Gladio?  Feel like spending some time with the Eos wide phenomenon?”  
  
Gladio just stares at the book clutched between Prompto’s hands.  And then up at Prompto’s excited face, and back to the book before a laugh erupts from his chest.   “You’re kidding me, right Blondie?”  Because between Prompto’s fingers is, of all things, _Twilight_ .  Pale hands holding an apple and some terrible font choice proclaiming an even more terrible story.  And it should be illegal that anyone, let alone Prompto, looks that excited about the prospect of reading it.  
  
He gives a fake pout.  “Oh come on, you can’t tell me you’re not at least a little interested?” he offers and dangles the book between thumb and forefinger in front of Gladio.  
  
Gladio smirks.  He was - _interested_.  Just not in the book and more in the person holding the book, not that he was about to admit that to anyone. He shakes his head. “Can't say I am.”

Prompto huffs. An actual, legit huff. “Yeah but you read all those trashy romance novels, how is this different?” Prompto points out.

Gladio shakes his head, arms crossing over his chest. “Don't you dare compare the timeless epic that is _Accordian Knights_ to this trash.”

There's another pout as Prompto whines out, “Glaaaaadioooo….”  A pause. “It's not _that_ bad, Gladio,” he insists. A grin. “I mean it _is_ , but it's like so bad it's kinda good, you know?”

At this Gladio arches a brow. “You're talking like you've read it…” he trails off as Prompto shrugs sheepishly and bites at his lower lip (and gods, Gladio has never wanted to be a lower lip more badly in his life).  “You have!” he exclaims.  “You've read Twilight,” he adds in with a teasing laugh.

Prompto's face flushes and he runs a hand along the back of his neck, eyes glancing to the floor. “Yeah - well - I mean…” he stammers and presses his lips together again. “There was this girl and she was really into it so I picked it up...  I thought it'd give us something to talk about together okay?” he finally gets out and lifts his gaze back to Gladio, his earlier excitement gone in lieu of a nervous sort of sheepish look. Like he's expecting to never live this one down.

It's a look that Gladio kind of hates. Kind of _really_ hates. As much as he hates the little pang of jealously over a girl most likely long forgotten aside from some anecdote. So he reaches over the little shelf and plucks the book from Prompto's hand. “So bad it's good, huh,” he says and turns it over in hand. The chosen quote on the back immediately makes him want to throw the damn thing in the garbage but there's a hint of a smile on Prompto's face and that's that.

“You're reading it with me,” Gladio insists as they head to the coolers to find a drink. “There's no way in hell I'm going through this torture alone…”

And that brings a full out grin to Prompto's face, the kind that Gladio has quickly learned he's pretty much helpless against and will do just about anything to see, up to and including reading Twilight apparently - and he swears, he fucking swears on his godsdamn life that despite being wrapped firmly around the pinky of some scrawny punk blond he is the fucking Gilgamesh tested worthy Shield of the Chosen King.

He flips open to the first page as Prompto chats up the cashier and pays for their things.

_I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months_ _  
_ _— but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this._

What the hell had he just signed up for.

 

* * *

  
Three days in and Gladio has almost thrown the damn thing out of the Regalia on more than one occasion. It's only the fact that since they're reading it together has had Prompto taking up Noctis' usual position in the back that has kept Gladio from doing so. Well no… Prompto hadn't taken up Noctis’ _usual_ spot.  No instead he parks himself closer to the middle seat, close enough that their arms touch as they both read the pages in front of them.  It’s barely even a touch, and it’s not even a purposeful touch.  But Gladio feels it in his very bones.  Feels these stupid little sparks of _something_ running up and down his arm where Prompto’s skin touches his.  And it’s ridiculous really.  There’s nothing sexual about, nothing even past two friends just sitting close together.  But gods how he _wants_.   

Gladio groans at a particularly bad passage and Prompto snickers beside him. “Stupid, shiny Volvo owner?” he guesses and Gladio nods before his head falls back on the seat.

“I'm dying, Prompto…” he heaves out dramatically, much to Prompto's amusement.

“Was it how your imagined it?” Prompto asks in a teasing tone with a jab of his sharp elbow to Gladio's side.

“Yeah, yeah…” Gladio replies back and lifts his head to find Prompto grinning up at him. Damn he was cute. A thought that's started to make itself know more and more often as of late. A thought that's been harder and harder not to _give into_ as of late. And really, it's all his damn self control at the moment not to just lean down and kiss him for all he was worth.

“You two are neeeeeerds,” comes from the front seat, muffled by a hand against the mouth.  

“ _Noooooct_ ,” Prompto immediately whines and Gladio's moment is lost as the prince sits up and turns to look back at Prompto and Prompto leans forward towards Noctis. The pair immediately dissolving into their own conversation with the ease that came with years of friendship. And Gladio is painfully aware of the sudden loss of contact, of the absence of the warmth of Prompto’s skin pressing into his and he rather _dislikes_ it.  Almost as much as he dislikes the _knowing_ look in Ignis’ eye as their gaze catches in the rear view mirror.

 

* * *

  


Prompto's head is in his lap, book above him as he reads aloud. And Gladio's pretty sure he's missed the last ten paragraphs or however long it's been since Prompto had settled himself in the spot like it's the most natural fucking thing in the world. Like he fucking _belongs_ there.  And it’s taking every single ounce of Gladio’s self control to not let a hand just rake through those blonde spikes lazily, to run down the side of a freckled cheek.  To act like this is more than what it is.  To act like maybe Prompto gave him even half a though outside of _Noct’s Shield_ , outside of _friend_ .    
  
Prompto’s eyes are bright as he reads, endlessly blue and Gladio finds himself more than little distracted.  In the wrong sort of way and he forces his gaze up and away and his attention back on the _words_ Prompto is speaking instead of just the timbre of his voice.  He shifts a little, careful though of the blond on his lap and lets an arm settle against Prompto’s abdomen, below where he’s holding the book up.  Casually.  Gods at least he hopes it seems casual.

_“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…" he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word._

_"What a stupid lamb," I sighed._

_"What a sick, masochistic lion.”_

Prompto’s laughter at the cheesiness of the lines rings out after he reads them, a certain dramatic tone to his voice.  “Man, I forgot how terrible this was,” he admits and lifts his gaze up to Gladio with a grin.  
  
Gladio just shakes his head.  “We can quit anytime you want, Prom,” he offers but finds himself praying the other says no.  As awful as the book itself is the _reading_ it part has been… nice.  He doesn’t want it to end.  

“Naw, you’re not getting off that easy, Big Guy,” Prompto replies and grins again.  “You know there’s like three other books after this too, right?” he adds, a vaguely threatening tone.  Or at least it would be threatening if he wasn’t grinning and looking like the fucking _sun_ as he said it.

  
And fuck him, Gladio thinks, if he’s not sympathizing with Edward Fucking Cullen right about then.  Masochistic indeed.  

 

* * *

 

It quickly becomes a thing.  The lack of personal space as they make their way through the book.  Because it’s _easier_ he reminds himself every time.  Easier to sit close to both be able to see.  Easier to hear when they read out loud in the backseat if they’re pressing in together, or if Prompto’s sprawling across his lap.  And just as quickly as it happens is just as quickly that Gladio realizes he likes it.  Likes it a little bit too much.  Likes it enough to keep his eyes peeled for those next four books at every rest stop, hoping he might luck out and can keep this _thing_ going a little bit longer.  
  
It’s another one of those afternoons - Prompto’s head in his lap as the scenery passes them by.  But Prompto’s drifted off, and Gladio can’t really blame him.  They’ve had a few long days picking up hunts and everyone is running close to empty.  And as much as Gladio likes camping he knows they need a night in a real bed and somewhere they can all grab a much needed shower.    
  
He’s set the book down a while ago and his gaze shifts from the landscape to Prompto.  Gladio has his arm resting on Prompto again, that compromise he’s allowed himself between _nothing_ and the touches he _wants_ to give.  He lets his eyes roam over Prompto’s features.  The dark circles under his eyes that speak to their current state of near exhaustion and it sparks a twinge of worry in him.  He’ll push Iggy for a hotel, make sure Prompto gets a good night’s rest.  There’s a bit of a flush across Prompto’s cheeks - he must have forgotten to keep on top of the sunscreen at some point in the past few days Gladio mused.  Not even realizing he’s doing it, his fingers brush across the flush, dusting over freckles before he quickly snaps the offending hand back for fear of being caught.    
  
There’s a laugh from Prompto, but one that seems to be laced with a bit of nervousness and Gladio is kicking himself for being an idiot.  “Wow, dude,” Prompto drawls and peers an eye open at Gladio.  “That was pretty fucking Edward Cullen of you,” he adds and gives a cheeky grin.  
  
Gladio’s heart is lodged somewhere in the back of his throat as Prompto talks, but it settles back into place at the crack.  This was okay.  He hadn’t completely fucked something up.  He offers Prompto a cheeky grin of his own.  “Yeah?  Would Edward Cullen do this?” he proposes before he pushes Prompto off of him and into the space between his legs and the seats.  It’s not hard by any means, a gentle sort of rough housing and he grins down at Prompto splayed below him.  
  
“Ahhh fuck, dude,” Prompto wails, though he’s laughing and he smacks the back of his hand against Gladio’s leg.  “No.  Fuck, no - Edward Cullen is a _gentleman_ unlike _some people_ here,” he says around a groan and laughs again as he pulls himself back up onto the seat.

“He’s not a gentleman,” Gladio points out with a chuckle.  “He’s the monster, remember?  Skin of a killer etc, etc…”  
  
“ _Seriously?!?!?_ ” comes an annoyed chirp from the front seat and Noctis turns and sits up to look at them in the back.  “I’m gonna throw that book out the damn window,” he threatens.  
  
“Uhhh.. Noct, buddy…” Prompto starts and Gladio starts to laugh beside him because he has a feeling where this is going.  “Top’s down, technically there are no windows.”  
  
Noctis just groans and slouches back in his seat.  Prompto grabs the book where Gladio had set it down and hands it back to the other man as Gladio lifts an arm to set around Prompto’s shoulders as he settles in to curl up against Gladio’s side.  “Where’d we leave off?”

 

* * *

 

It’s late.  Or early.  Gladio isn’t really sure - that sort of no man’s land between night and morning where time bleeds into itself and reality becomes a liminal space.  Noctis and Ignis are long since asleep, but he and the blond pressing into his chest are still awake.  The light from Prompto’s phone throws their side of the tent into a soft light, aimed at the book in Gladio’s hand but neither of them are actually reading it.  At least not anymore.  It’s been a good twenty minutes since Gladio’s felt the soft tap of fingers on his arm slung over Prompto’s mid section - the silent signal to change the page.  

But Prompto’s eyes are still open.  And Gladio can _feel_ the tension radiating off the slender body in his arms.  Of course, this close - Prompto’s back pressing into his chest and not much between them but their sleep pants and Prompto’s thin and worn out t-shirt he wore to bed - it’s hard not to.  Prompto’s been coiled tight since they’d finally made their way out of that damn dungeon.  Camping hadn’t been the ideal, but it was too far to the next motel and they hadn’t wanted to risk being out on the road after dark given that everyone was pretty beat.  Stress levels running high from too many close calls, too many tight squeezes through passages not entirely meant for people to pass through.    
  
Camp had been a silent sort of affair with Ignis cooking a simple meal before they all cleaned up as best they could and retired to the tent.  Noctis had been quick to pass out, Ignis not far behind and Gladio had been feeling the pull until Prompto’s voice had caught his ear.  “Wanna read for a bit?”  Small and hesitant and so unlike him and how could Gladio deny that.  
  
So they had shuffled and maneuvered, tucked in close to share the book and opted for reading silently so not to awake Ignis.  And okay, maybe Gladio had been a bit more into how Prompto felt with his back curled up against his chest than the ever increasingly ridiculous adventures of Bella and Edward.  Maybe he had let his mind wander a little to the idea of having this long after the book had been finished.  Maybe he had found himself torn between how _good_ it felt to have Prompto against him and the worry over Prompto’s current mental state.  
  
So as it becomes clear Prompto’s no longer reading, Gladio sets the book down.  He reaches for Prompto’s phone and gently pulls it from the other’s grip.  There’s a soft _huh_? from Prompto as his gaze comes back into focus and looks up at Gladio.    
  
“Bed time, Chocobo,” Gladio says quietly and sets the phone down beside the book.  It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.  He’s not entirely sure what causes the move, just that Prompto still feels wound as tight as all hell against him and so Gladio finds himself pulling at Prompto, urging the other man to turn around and then tugging him half onto his chest.  Gladio’s arm slips around Prompto’s shoulders, his other hand moving to run a gentle line down the length of his spine.  Blond tufts of hair tickle under his chin but he doesn’t mind.  It’s more than overshadowed by the breath that blows across his next from the close proximity.  
  
They’re quiet like that for a moment.  But Gladio breaks it, his words soft in the dark of the tent. “You did good today, Prom,” he breathes out.  And he means it.  Sure the day had been a clusterfuck and a half but Prompto had done good.  Some days, even when you did good, it just turned to shit.  Prompto stiffens under him at the sudden noise, but then quickly relaxes - _melts_ into the embrace as the words settle.  

“Thanks, Gladio,” he replies, just as quiet and Gladio can’t help the small smile as Prompto curls himself in closer.  As Prompto’s face nuzzles in closer into the crook of his neck, as an arm slips over his torso and gives a little squeeze.  

Gladio knows in the morning this will be gone.  That they’ll go back to being - whatever they are.  Friends.  Friend of a friend.  Coworkers really if one thought too hard on it.  And while they might still keep close, they’ll still have this damn book to finish off - it won’t be _this_ .  This stolen little moment that is at once killing him and giving him _everything_ .  And he desperately wants to know if Prompto feels it too.  If this _means_ to Prompto what it means to him.  
  
But he can’t find the words and before long Prompto’s breathing evens out.  His body melts even further into their embrace and Gladio smiles to himself.  He lifts a hand to brush some hair off of Prompto’s forehead, lets his fingers trace over a cheekbone.  “Night, Prom.”

 

* * *

   
  
  
The room is quiet.   _Too_ quiet.  And where Gladio once might have revelled in the idea of alone time with Prompto, or the fact he could have a bed to himself for once and actually stretch out he finds himself wishing for the company of Ignis and Noctis.  If only to fill the silence that has settled between him and Prompto - the one that he _knows_ isn’t as heavy as it feels to him.  The one that only seems to remind him of the loss of contact since they finished _Twilight_ the other week.    
  
Of course they still talk.  They still laugh and joke and they’re still _friends_ .  But there’s no more lounging in the backseat of the Regalia.  Noctis has taken up his old spot with complaints of missing his napping spot, Prompto back to the front beside Ignis and the only conversations those with the seat between them.  There’s no more nights in front of the fire with Prompto curling up in his lap to read along with him, enjoying the evening as Ignis and Noctis talk around them.  And there’s definitely no late nights in the tent, no more stolen moments.  There’s _space_ between them.  And it feels like the godsdamn ocean to Gladio.  
  
He _misses_ it.  The closeness, the joking.  The feeling like he was _sharing_ something with Prompto and not just existing with him.

On the bed next to his Prompto’s laying on his stomach, immersed in something on his phone.  Gladio presses his lips together and makes a decision.  Because if even Edward Fucking Cullen could get his shit together - so could he.  He reaches for his bag and rummages around until he pulls out a book.

“Hey, Prom?” he asks into the space between the beds.  “You wanna read?”  
  
Prompto’s head lifts up and he looks over at Gladio.  “But we finished -” he starts, stopping as he sees Gladio hold up his copy of _Accordian Knights_ .  Prompto raises a brow and grins.  “Ohhh… the timeless epic,” he says with a teasing tone, using Gladio’s words for those weeks ago.  “Move over, Big Guy,” he says as he nudges Gladio with his knee as he moves onto the bed.    
  
It’s a bit of shuffling but they get settled easily.  And Gladio can almost instantly feel the anxiousness that had started to creep into the back of his mind fall away as Prompto curls up into him again.  He slips an arm around the younger man and starts to flip through the pages of the worn novel.    
  
“We’re not gonna start at the beginning?” Prompto asks, his brow raising as he looks up at Gladio.  
  
Gladio shakes his head.  “We’ll go back to it but -” he pauses and skims some pages to find what he’s looking for.  “There’s a part I want to read for you first,” he adds and shifts a little again as he settles back against the pillows.  He’s got his back against the headboard, sitting up a little and Prompto curling up against his chest.  It feels nice.  It feels _right_ .  And gods how he’s missed it. 

He clears his throat and starts to read:  
  
“It was in the absence that Laurent realized.  It was in the hand that hung limply at his side without the other’s to press palm to palm.  It was in the bed that suddenly seemed so empty and cold without the other’s body to keep him warm.  It was in the silence, in those long hours that Agoston used to fill with his stories and charm.  It was in the moments that no longer seemed quite as full, quite as magical.    
  
It was in the absence that the truth became clear.  His heart was Agoston’s and Agoston owned every crevice of it.  It had not been bought or paid for, but rather handed over.  Fully.  Completely, and of Laurent’s own accord.  And it was in the absence that Laurent realized he never wanted it back.  It was Agoston’s to do with what he pleased…”  
  
Gladio trails off as Prompto shifts to sit up a little and looks at him.  Gladio’s breath hitches in his throat, suddenly feeling laid bare and exposed under the gaze of those impossibly blue eyes.  
  
“Gladio…” Prompto says - lightly, questioning, but not pulling back and that gives Gladio cause to keep going.  
  
He brings a hand up to cup the side of Prompto’s face, and there’s a flicker of surprise across the other’s features before he turns his head into the touch.  Gladio breathes out.  “My heart is yours,” he said simply, his eyes locked on Prompto’s.  “To do with what you please,” he adds, thumb stroking gently across a freckled cheek.  
  
Prompto holds his gaze and Gladio swallows hard as he watches for a reaction.   _Any_ reaction.  And then Prompto’s face breaks into a grin - wide and open and _happy_ and Gladio can’t help one of his own from crossing his features.  “Fuck, Gladio - that was some sappy shit right there,” Prompto says with a laugh as his head ducks down, but it’s anything but malicious.  It’s light and teasing and as Prompto’s gaze comes back up to Gladio’s he realizes it’s _loving._    
  
“Timeless classic, Prompto,” Gladio reminds him, that grin still plastered on his face and he slides his hand behind Prompto’s neck and pulls him in.  His thumb brushes over Prompto’s lip, a light touch before Gladio presses his lips to Prompto’s.  Slow at first, gentle.  But only for a moment before they both start to deepen it, Prompto moving firmly onto Gladio’s lap as his hands slip behind to tangle in the long strands of hair at the back of his neck.  

It’s minutes, maybe hours for all he knows.  Everything is just a haze of Prompto’s lips against his, the feel of slender fingers curling into his hair, the soft weight of Prompto in his lap and for once Gladio isn’t in a _hurry_ .  He isn’t racing towards a finish line and forgetting the journey there.  For once he’s _more_ than content to make out like the teenager he never really got to be.    
  
Prompto’s eyes are dark when they finally pull back, chest a rapid rise and fall as they catch their breaths.  And then there’s a smirk that has Gladio raising his brow.  “So -” Prompto starts and Gladio already shudders at to where this is going, that smug sort of _I think I’m clever_ look on Prompto’s face.  “Does this mean I’m like your own personal brand of heroin?” Prompto asks and he manages to keep a straight face for the three seconds it takes for Gladio to groan.  A yelp as Gladio easily manhandles Prompto forward and onto the bed, hovering over him.  
  
Gladio grins and drops a few kisses to the side of Prompto’s neck.  “It means you are _exactly_ my brand of heroin,” he says anyways with a laugh.  And as much as he wants to curse _Twilight_  how can he now.  

“I told you it wasn’t that bad,” Prompto points out with a soft whimper as Gladio’s lips find a particularly sensitive spot on behind his ear.  He’s got his hands tangled in hair again, legs wrapping around hips and Gladio is pretty sure he’s never going to get over this.

He lifts his head and looks down at the blond on the bed, eyes taking in the flush that was starting to creep across cheeks and down his neck, the freckles that stood out even more in its wake.  He smiles and presses a quick kiss to Prompto’s lips before he answers.  “Best damn thing I ever read.”


End file.
